


if you love a flower,

by trognon de pomme (Imloth)



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Gender-neutral Reader, Hanahaki Disease, One-Sided Attraction, Other, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2018-11-30 13:44:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11464797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imloth/pseuds/trognon%20de%20pomme
Summary: Hanahaki disease; when one begins hemorrhaging flowers in response to unrequited love.;aka, It’s all fun and games until someone coughs up petals.(currently being rewritten)





	1. i.

**Author's Note:**

> edit: previously titled 'and you can't breathe', and some other parts changed to follow with the flow of the story.
> 
>  
> 
> (this fic was inspired by akirakurusuimagines on tumblr!)

 

 

 

> _“If you love a flower, don’t pick it up._  
>  _Because if you pick it up it dies and it ceases to be what you love."_

 

* * *

 

 

Akira asks you if you want him to walk you home, if you needed an umbrella, and if you were okay. You nod, no, no, yes. The both of you part ways afterwards, you choosing to settle around under the safety of the awning, mind churning over what just happened. A part of you cringes internally, the image replaying over and over. Just being here sets you off, all the times spent with Akira here being reduced to nothing. It was calmer back then. much easier get a grip on whatever feelings manifested from out of nowhere, before you just had to go and ruin it. 

Your eyes look to the side, Akira is out of sight now, and you doubt he’d notice which direction you’d normally go, much less care. You don't think before you start moving through Yongen-Jaya, after all, It wouldn’t hurt to at least try to find something to distract yourself with for the time being. It’s certainly better than being left at the mercy of reliving where you went wrong, so you try to quiet the noises in your head and walk.

Which reminds you, it has been quite a while since you felt the rain against your skin, so it can’t hurt to move at your own pace. The downpour worsens a bit, but you can’t find it in yourself to turn back, to stop thinking so much. You don’t want to think of the fact that it’s now impossible to fool yourself or pretend any longer that there was some chance out there for him to reciprocate. He said so, in ruthlessly plain words, that left virtually no room for doubt. Akira had given his own thoughts and given reason as to why it wouldn’t work, between his own feelings and to preserve the functionality of the Phantom Thieves, to ensure that the team wouldn’t be weighed down by personal feelings.  _In other words, I'm weighing them down_ , you suppose.

You have to blink back rain constantly now, as the downpour worsens, knowing full well it wasn't entirely rainwater clouding your vision. Your chest hiccups with shallow breaths and you clench your hands, slumping into a nearby bench. The rain’s pouring now, but you don’t mind it enough to try to cover your head. If you really did try hard enough, the raindrops splashing against your skin and the thrumming of thunder is enough to give clarity to your mind. As the water hits your hand, you push yourself to try to quiet any doubts you have. It’s easy to lose yourself in the moment, letting your eyelids shut. You figure you must be a pitiful sight to any onlookers, some stupid student just lying on a bench in the middle of a thunderstorm, crying their eyes out like that would help anything. 

Somebody’s foot scuffs on the concrete behind you and you're about to whirl about to excuse yourself, when instead, you’re greeted by grey eyes and a mop of black hair. The rain suddenly stops hitting your head, instead pattering on the grey umbrella he has, _that_ umbrella. He knows that you're awake, somehow. Seems to always know before you do, though that might be attributed to how he always has a knack for reading others. Which is why he can probably decipher how mortified you probably are.

He looks out of place in his Leblanc apron in the storm, like he rushed over haphazardly and in forgot to dress for the outdoors. You’d normally poke fun at him— because he _does_ look like a doofus for running all the way out to find you after you unprompted— but the words can’t formulate in your throat. _Why are you here? What did I do wrong? Did I do something wrong, and if so, why are you here?_ The thoughts are irrational, inane, but you can’t help but wonder alike, because it _stings_ , seeing him here.

You continue walking, hoping that maybe, just maybe, he would reconsider going after you, he has no reason to. He persists though, with long strides he makes to keep you underneath the umbrella. You're want to tear your hair out at how he hazily shifts his hands and keeps up besides you, as if nothing's wrong, as if he weren't avoiding your gaze. It's infuriating, the odd little blindness in his steps, the care he takes to moving alongside you, but not enough care to enough to try to process what you're feeling. 

“I’m sorr—”  
  
“Please don’t.” The words feel asinine and insincere, you want to tell him, but it’s not true.  _If it were, he wouldn't be here right now_ , you remind yourself. He doesn't need to be here, by no means did he have to come back for you.

“You’re too reckless,” is the last word Akira utters, a rebuttal(or was it a plead?) to your silent nagging to leave you be. Neither one of you speaks for the remainder of the walk to Yongen-Jaya Station, but the feeling of discontentment resonates from the silence either way.

~

 

Requests are especially tiring today, between the excess of shadows and the seemingly never ending maze based palace. When a pack of shadows triple overnight, it’s clear that the palace’s host must be getting restless and more paranoid by the day- who better to take advantage of warped cognition than the Phantom Thieves? Besides, it’s good practice and emotional relief.

Up ahead, there’s three shadows armed to the teeth with hatchets and hammers, ready for any opportune moment to swing down on everyone. Shadows may be easy to cut down when there’s only one, but no one on the team would wager getting out unharmed from dozens of them in the confines of mementos. It’s easy enough to avoid the hulking shadows, but it’s nothing to boast about when the blade narrowly misses scoring Ann’s collarbone or when Makoto is knocked off her feet. Ryuji curses when fire violently rips through the floor without warning and forces for everyone to move back, effectively cornering everyone against a dead end.

“We need to find an opening!” you shout, but there’s no disagreement to be had- not when it was better to escape with nasty bruises than risk losing your lives here. You shoot blindly in the general direction of the horde, and it’s enough to guarantee a hit more often or not(you silently celebrate at the three headshots to land, though it’s not much damage). Makoto, Akira, Ryuji, and Ann pick up from there, slicing and firing their way through the wave. But all the barrage of attacks can only do so much without the aid of personas, but it’s effort has Futaba alerting everyone of a clear path for escape and instructing everyone to sneak through it one after the other, to lessen the risk of shadows noticing. 

You’re almost home free by the time it's just Akira and you— but celebration is short though, when you spot burly shadow about drive a spear through Akira. You grab Akira’s wrist- the hole isn’t big enough for both of you to slip through unscathed, but you reassure yourself that you’ve lived through worse, because there’s nothing to stop you now. Still holding your grip on him firmly, you can feel the jagged edge snag against your leg. You don’t dare to turn back to defend yourself. The last thing you want to do is give the shadow an opportunity to close in on Akira and you when you’re both low on energy.

There’s furious thumping of the shadow pounding after you, Akira reaches out to yank you forward and you sprint even harder, even if it is putting excruciating pain on your wound and has your lungs burning. There’s a whistle in the air coming behind you, along with faint static crackles in the air and—

Whether you made it back in one piece before passing out is beyond you. You’re mildly aware that you’re drifting in and out of consciousness mostly being dragged by Akira and limping across the palace foyer, with each time your muscles stiffening even more. Your mind blanks into comfortable blackness with the feeling of electrical pulses across your skin.

Gods, you really are too reckless.

 

~

 

You blink dazedly, then shut your eyelids. You’re still in bed, tucked behind sheets and some t-shirt you threw on after the storm practically drenched your last uniform set, bits of sunlight shining annoyingly over your eyes.

There’s no reason to wake up just yet, despite it still being a school day. Hell, you doubt your clothes are even done in the dryer, if the mechanic rumbling is anything to go by. There’s still a familiar ache that roots itself in your breastbone when you think of yesterday. Maybe it would be better to come in late enough to avoid Akira but still get in for attendance. Would your teachers mind if you asked abruptly to switch classes for the rest of year? No- that'd be stupid, you had to be there for discussing plans, especially with most of the Phantom Thieves being scattered around Shibuya and Shujin. There really was no way out was there? Especially not after yesterday- as long as you were alive and well, then you’re stuck indefinitely with your current limitations.

You almost want to just bury the hatchet and start all over again. Maybe fate would have been easier on you if you never were involved with the thieves. But would you be any happier without him? You imagined it constantly, the entire ordeal still tender like a bruise, too fresh to not invoke pain from the imagery, but not enough to draw you back. But what was you best case scenario right now? For a majority of last night, you'd imagined him showing up at your door, eyes dazed with the lost look he’d have sometimes around you when he was at his most vulnerable, instead of the guarded look he'd normally have around others. He’d apologize, for real this time, re-think whatever he had planned out from the start on his way over here. There would be an uncharacteristic fumble in his words- like he couldn’t find the words the moment he realized his feelings.

You wished he’d done something, but he hadn’t, which was why you’re alone again.

You groan, rolling over to your side and finally getting up to wash your face. There’s a dull sting on the back of your left leg. Did you trip on your way back from the station? You grab ahold of your blankets, push it away from your shoulders, but then you hear it: there’s someone in the room with you. You have half the nerve to rush out now, to grab at the nearest thing and brandish it, and you’re already halfway there when you feel someone press firmly against your shoulder.

“Hey- easy, it’s just me.”

It’s Akira. Oh. You’re not in your room. And that's when you remember, after a quick succession of foggy images, that after a good couple of shadows and cleverly timed Zio on you, landed you in a safe room with Akira peering over at you. Funny, you can’t remember getting burned on your shoulder.

Your mind can’t concentrate on whatever he’s saying because the longer Akira keeps his hold on you, the more your shoulder seems to feel like the skin underneath is smoldering and raw- the touch feels like ardent embers and has you feeling lightheaded under your mask. He says something you can’t hear except for ‘breathe.’

Oh. You’re holding your breath. Akira pulls back to let you get a hold of yourself, eying you cautiously as you exhale and inhale shallowly. “Akira,” your voice sounds raspy, as if you also had your vocal cords stunned, too. You sit back, holding in a hiss from shifting your leg the slightest. You feel sick, from the very depths of your stomach, not just from the subsiding burning, like you’re too full but starving at the same time.

“Where is everyone? We need to find the—” You’re about to steady yourself up with the handles of the chair- you could walk off an injured leg if you really needed to- when Akira moves to support you with one hand against your back and the other over your other arm. Instinctively, you jerk back into your seat before his touch elicits the same reaction as before.

“Calm down, you’re delirious.”

Akira hasn’t moved from keeping you still(mostly because you won’t keep still and your mind is running a mile a minute), concern in his eyes. He takes your hand, and presses an assortment of pills in your palm.

You don’t get to look before you down them in one go, because your head is pounding and you can’t concentrate on anything but the feeling of your insides ripping out, and they’re incredibly bitter and stick to your throat. You almost double over holding in a cough, eyes watering up and Akira’s hand moves to awkwardly pat your head(a normally comforting act, if it weren’t contributing to the pain).

You briefly wonder if it matters to be sanitary when you feel like you’re about to cough your intestines out, just before clapping your hand over your mouth and proceed to do just that. There’s tears that run down your face and you can feel a layer of cold sweat form over your forehead, and _gods_ , you don’t think there’s anything worse than this, even nearly getting your entire leg ripped out. You retch, your breathing being reduced to ragged breaths.

You feel the burning ebb in the form of blood and bile swishing around, forcing itself upwards of your throat. The pain blooms, and your mind flashes back to the images of lungs your teachers used to show the class, with all the capillaries branching out like brambles— brambles you tried to hold down and now they plan on destroying your very being in return.

You can catch a glimpse of buds resting in your palm. They’re red, from what you can make out past the hot tears.

You wonder why he didn't just let you die back there.

 

~

 


	2. ii.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies for taking so long to post this chapter! i've decided to post the rest of this fic chapter-by-chapter instead of compiling it to one full thing!
> 
> (enjoy a little mini chapter while i get everything sorted out)

You awake, for what seems to be the second time today.

 

Blinking back tears, your vision focuses on the flowering bud. Upon closer inspection, it’s half opened and partially stained scarlet, small and delicate, as if it hadn’t just physically manifested from your grief as sort of a cherry on top of all of your problems. Either way, it gets shoved into your pocket. You can deal with it later, just not when any more of your dignity is on the line. If Akira notices, you can’t tell, especially with the faraway look he has on. Speaking of which, he hasn’t pulled his hand away yet.

“You can stop now,” you blurt. That wasn’t a proper response; you should have apologized for the mess- for  _ you _ , considering how you still don’t know how to talk to him, let alone make eye contact with anything but the floor. Nonetheless, he snaps out of his thinking immediately, pulling away to clear his throat. 

“I,” his voice, alien and laced with hesitation, isn’t quite level with you. He shuffles back to lean against the counter, gripping the edge of the table as if to keep himself in place. “We should talk.”

You are trying not to hope. You used to wish for more moments when he was unmistakably sincere; anything to let you understand him for once, past all that snarky evasiveness. It was always hard to understand where one stood with him, after all.

“About what.” The room is suffocating again. You shift uncomfortably in your seat.

Pause. Your eyes haven’t left the ground yet, immersing itself in the swirling floor pattern, but a quick glance is enough to let you see Akira open his mouth, then close it again. Kurusu doesn’t hesitate. Not around you(which begs the question, did you destroy that too?).

“I didn’t want to talk to you at first.”

Oh. You retroactively take that back. You most certainly don’t want any of his sincerity right now after all. “Do we have to talk about this? Right now, I mean,” you manage to utter out. “Because I’d rather not, if I have any say.“  _ And because these two whole days have been difficult, and I may start hacking out bouquets of flowers in your name. _

Pause. “The others are probably worrying about us,” which is translation for:  _ I’m not done saying my peace, but we have to talk eventually. _ You silently pray that that won’t come, there’s no way in hell you can handle going through that again with whatever grace you have left to spare. Which is none. “Does your leg feel any better?”

You blink. Right- you almost forgot about the medicine. You give an affirmative hum, stretching and flexing your leg experimentally. It doesn’t seem to be too damaged at all, no painful lumps or visible muscle.  A simple push forward proves to be too much, ever apparent in how your legs gracefully buckle at the unexpected weight shift that has your chest swell with nausea.  _ Shit. _

A weight latches onto your shoulders before you can register anything. Gloved hands clamp down on your shoulders. You haven’t so much as processed the move until after your head is resting against his chest, ah-- You’d almost forgotten how Akira was always able to spring into motion, quickly becoming a blinding blur as naturally as it was to breathe and blink.

The two of you rest there for several moments, at an impasse between your own refusal to choke out a few measly words and him holding onto you like an anchor. His heart beats steadily, in contrast to his own breathing. It dawns on you that Akira probably hasn’t fully processed the motion either, almost as if he moved accordingly without any prior thought. It strikes you abruptly, just how different your friendship would be now. There’s a soothing ache his touch grants you, it no longer stings this harshly of fresh embers or stains with fragile petals. It’s soothing enough, in the same way passing away in sleep may be.

“All right?” He murmurs at some point. Swallow. Exhale. 

You feel dizzy and foot loose at the boundless effect he has on you still, nearly slipping again when you steady your weight. It takes a few tries at first, but you eventually get it, albeit with help from Akira fixing his stance to hold you still. 

“I think,” you say, before realizing it’s a moot point and too late of a response. It feels odd to hold conversation, to resume life as is. “And,” you add, just because you can, “Your bandaging is atrocious, you know.”

It takes Akira a couple of seconds to recognize the light tone laced in your words during a such tense moment, just before he gently nudges you and all but pouts, feigning offense at your comment. “Would you rather I left you bleeding out?” 

“Well.”  _ Kind of, yes. _ It feels wrong to act like everything is ok, to ignore what just happened. But you force a hoarse laugh out either way, it feels pleasant and heavy at the same time. “I’m still alive, so you must be doing something right, I suppose.”   
  
There’s a familiar smile he has on that makes your heart thrum a bit with that ache again, just a tad more painful this time. “C’mon.”

You’re halfway out the safe room by then, limping alongside Akira in silence, when you hear it-- ‘ hope I am-- almost unintelligible, but  _ there _ . You want to ask him what he means by that, what he was saying it to,  _ why  _ he was saying it. Your throat suddenly tightens again, feels too dry and too foreign all of a sudden.

Swallow. Exhale. 

**Author's Note:**

> edit: thank you for all the hits!  
> 


End file.
